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Elusive Truths

November 29, 2023 midday San Francisco, California

** Reno stopped in the forensic lab** and folded his arms. A wiry haired looking man in a lab coat approached the inspector. The man's lack of brushed hair made him look like a mad scientist out of an 80's sci-fi movie. His eyes lowered then lifted, sizing up Doctor Wilfred Greg, head of the forensic department at the precinct where Reno worked.

Wilfred pushed his hands casually into the coat's pockets. "Well, what is it you need, Inspector?" The man was a cross between Dr. Emmitt Brown - the time traveling movie scientist, and Dr. House from the TV. Both in looks and somewhat in mannerisms. The doctor tilted his head and looked Reno over with the casual yet subtle grace of a lab geek, comfortable on his own turf.

Reno looked down at the rectangular glass slide in his left hand then back up to the man and shrugged slightly. Finally, as if by confession, the Inspector offered over the slide.

"Very nice, super sleuth. What would you like me to do with that?" said the aging man, who appeared in his late fifties at first glance. He offered Nevada a slight smirk.

"I know you like picking on department detectives. Just take the slide, man."

"That's because I can get away with it. You inspectors always come crawling back, needing my help no matter the..."

"Listen, Dr. Greg... Wilfred...please. I need you on your A-game, buddy. Let's focus, okay? I need whatever you can tell me about this blood, down to the oddest detail." Reno spoke with an unusually serious tone.

Wilfred eyed Nevada for a moment. "No time for banter today, huh?"

"This is serious."

"Okay, okay." Wilfred pulled his hands free of the lab coat, and raised them up in the air with a chuckle. He crossed the room towards the doorway, towards Reno. Greg snatched the slide from Reno's left hand and immediately retreated back to his microscope, muttering between chuckles.

"Be careful with that...please."

"How long do I have this time?" asked Wilfred, the sarcasm thick in his tone. "A few hours to crack a whole case?"

"Greg, please. It's important." He watched the aging man half-dance back to his workstation.

"Well, where's the rest of the paperwork. I need a form for your evidence," Greg continued. He wedged the slide under the electronic microscope mounted into a workbench at the far end of the room.

"This...isn't a case. This is a personal favor and I'll owe you for it," Reno said.

"Oh, this is SO going to cost you, Reno, my boy!" Greg cackled with a grin.

"Hot wings at Hooters?" Reno asked, tilting his head. He leaned in the doorframe of the forensics laboratory. He narrowed his gaze on Wilfred, standing on the other side of metallic shelves and forensic equipment. "Well?"

Wilfred Greg chuckled again. He hooked a thumb back at the objects on the shelves. Strange odds and ends that some police departments would refer to as 'unorthodox' ingredients. "You know what, Reno? Here, in this lab, no one questions my methods. I always seem to get things solved with incredible accuracy, right? I'm like Abby Sciuto from NCIS, or Walter Bishop from Fringe."

"Really? You're busting out television references that are over a decade old?"

"The point is, my boy, that I'm a constant force for do-gooding in this precinct. And personal favors aren't cheap because it comes out of my personal time, since my job comes first. Now to answer your question...I want something far more rewarding than wings and beer. This is illegal use of department resources, am I right?"

Reno cleared his throat but said nothing.

Greg chuckled again and fidgeted with the zoom on the lens.

"Well, take your time, Wilf. I don't have to be back to work for three more days. Do me a favor and don't tell Sanders I got you working on this, huh?" Reno glanced down at the floor.

"Sure thing, baldy," Greg chuckled, not bothering to look up from the sample.

"Yeah...I'm surprised you still have hair, yourself," Reno said under his breath, looking back at the old white haired lab-rat.

"I'm not as old as I look. I just experimented with a lot of drugs in my twenties. Oh, yeah, one more thing, Nevada."

Reno glanced around furtively, recognizing Greg's change of tone. His gaze fell back on the man in the white lab coat. "Yeah?"

"I found something out on that sample you brought back - the one concerning the gypsy case. The thread you brought back, you'll never believe this," Greg said, still not looking up from his microscope. "The thread is clearly over a hundred years old."

Reno groaned softly. "Man, you know that case is closed."

"Yeah, well...I got curious about other evidence and went back and looked to make sure I didn't miss anything. There was some skin under the fingernails of one of the dead gypsy bodies. I pulled that up and looked at it closer than last time. I ran the DNA from under the fingernail through a computer. It's human, of course, but..." Dr. Greg suddenly found himself interrupted by Reno.

"Wilfred, dude...seriously. You heard Frank. That case is finished, man." With that, he turned and left the room. "Let me know what I owe you. See you in a few days."

"Yeah, well, what I found was still pretty wild, super sleuth."

The inspector continued down the hall away from the lab, leaving Wilfred to resume his work. The case cost him a boatload of trouble and nearly his own life. Frank Sanders closed the case. Reno kept his mouth shut, buried his curiosity, and kept walking.

X

---

X

December 1, 9:00 am...

** The elevator doors slid open with a ding**. Suede shoes stepped over the track and into a busy police office. The feel of a good suit amounted to the sensation of comfort and power. Reno felt good to be back on the job.

A few other inspectors walked by Nevada, ignoring him.

Nevada furrowed a brow at the odd behavior, knowing everyone in the division and vice versa. He pondered why people ignored him, being on good terms with most everyone in the department. Reno brushed it off and walked towards his desk.

Someone sat at his desk. Nevada mouthed the his first thought in silence. 'What the hell...?'

Some_one sat at _his desk. Reno strolled up next to it, placed his hands on his hips, and pushed back the bottom hem of his Italian blazer. He displayed the seven-point badge hooked to his belt and leaned forward over the desktop.

"Wanna tell me whatcha doin' at my desk?"

A kid, barely drinking age, turned around in the chair and looked up at Reno. Neither recognized one another. Their eyes met and locked. The kid cleared his throat and motioned to a badge he wore around his neck.

"Eh, what's that pal? This is the desk they told me to take," said the kid.

Reno felt like a fool, followed by resentment and anger. He narrowed his eyes, took a deep breath then stood up straight. "Listen here, I ain't your fuckin' pal, dickhead. And the only reason I'm not going to punch you square in your condescending face is because you're just an ignorant little jobber who doesn't know that he's nothing more than a dancing little puppet."

"Excuse me?"

Reno peered down at the rookie. "No, excuse me." He lifted his gaze towards the Captain's officer, furious. "You need to nut up and get some control of your strings. Now, pardon me while I go and talk to your puppet-master."

Dumbfounded, the kid stared up at Reno. Nevada smirked, adjusted the lay of his blazer and marched straight towards the Captain's office.

Reno paused outside the door and listened. He heard Captain Sanders' speakerphone conversation with the Chief of Police through the door. Reno reached for the door handle then paused again. He heard an invitation to the chief's home for a backyard barbecue.

"So your wife makes a mean potato salad, eh Frank?" the voice belonged to the chief.

"Sure, sure. Sally will bring the potato salad and I'll bring the liquor. And yes, sir, I know not to bring any of that lite beer crap."

Reno took a deep breath to control his temper and stood directly in front of the snowed glass door, purposefully creating an ominous silhouette. He took another deep breath. Reno knocked three times, clear and sharp.

"Eh, Chief, hold on a second." Inside the office, Sanders placed his left finger on the mute button. He cleared his throat and shouted to the figure on the other side of his door. "I'm on the phone; unless it's an emergency, piss off!" Frank Sanders the mute button and began to speak again, "So anyway..."

The door burst open and Reno stormed in, slamming it behind him. He snatched the receiver from the Captain's phone cradle, lifted it then slammed it down on the base, disconnecting the call. Reno grimaced, boiling with bottled rage.

"What the fu...? Nevada? What the hell are you doing here?" asked Captain Sanders, his brows furrowed. Then, as an after-thought, he added, "Nice hair."

Reno pointed his index finger, holding it in the Captains face. His hand shook from muscle tension. "Listen here, you fat... chumpy, crooked piece of shit. You've made the biggest mistake of your life. You'll regret the day you fired me."

Sanders leaned back in his chair, nonchalant and relaxed. "It wasn't me, Reno." Sanders offered a sympathetic shrug.

"Excuse me?"

"I fought it kicking and screaming. Didn't you get the message I left? The new lieutenant is down in supplies. You coulda' just dropped off your badge and gun with him. Didn't have to come all the way up here."

Reno slammed his hands down on the desk, staring in the face of his his former boss. Strands of electricity danced between the ex-inspector's gleaming, brown eyes.

Captain Sanders froze, slack jawed and eyes wide. The glowing illumination intensified. Sanders jumped back in his chair. The backrest hit the wall behind him with a resounding thud.

"Who...made...the call?" Reno growled softly. "It's a simple question and I expect an answer."

"It came down from the Chief, directly. I don't know anything else! I tried to talk them out of it!"

"Bullshit, Frank."

"Reno, you do have a knack for solving cases, after all." Sanders held his hands up defensively. "Despite that run of stupidity during your two week suspension, you set a department record for cases legitimately solved. Your clearance rate was great. Hell, they even hold up in court. Your cases have a perfect conviction rate for the last ninety days." Frank pointed to a seasonal report on his desk.

"Them?" Reno smirked.

"What?"

"You said you tried to talk them out of it. I want the names of them, and I want them right-goddamn-now." Having never grilled another cop before, Reno found the situation cathartic - demanding answers, the job he knew and loved.

"Reno, you don't need to get in my face over this."

"Sorry if my interrogating, a skill I honed over the years as an inspector, seems questionable to you Frank." Without warning, the conversation slanted into pure intimidation - Reno picked up the phone on the desk and threw it into the wall just above Sanders' head. The plastic molding shattered.

Frank Sanders looked up at Reno, doe eyed. Reno noticed Frank's look of incomprehension.

Nevada clenched his hands into fists. "I. Asked. You. A. Question. Did you hear me? I asked who was responsible for firing me. You said them. Plural. Who?"

"Reno, there's something wrong with your eyes, son."

"You didn't hear? Oh, that's right, it wasn't in a report. Why is that?" he continued with a sarcastic tone, "Oh! Probably because I was going to write it today!"

"What are you talking about, son?"

Reno glowered at the nickname. "Don't call me that."

"Just tell me what happened, Nevada."

"I figured you already knew since you suck the dick of whoever tells you what to do."

"Reno, just tell me what happened."

"Fine. I went for a drink in North Beach. This stupid bimbo who owns the club, named Krys Monroe, was selling drugs to my suspect. I went there and saw the gypsy girl, Abby Chase. It was a nice coincidence. Krys Monroe knows more than she should, so she wanted me suspended because I was getting too close to the gypsy case."

"Reno..."

"So you obliged her. You suspended me. I went back there because I wanted a drink and some personal answers. I confronted the bitch in private. Suddenly, Monroe had goons attack me and take me up onto the roof in the middle of a thunderstorm. They hit me with a bottle and a big fucking wrench."

"You were attacked?"

"I was thrown into a broken air conditioning box in the rain and don't remember anything after I got electrocuted. Now tell me who is involved, then I'll give you one chance to bury your head in the sand and wait until this all blows over."

Frank repeated himself. "You were attacked?"

"Yeah, don't you take that seriously? When someone tries to kill a cop?"

"I'll call the nightclub. I'll requisition the security footage of the attack. We don't have to be enemies, Reno."

"You do that. I already know Monroe is part of this, but I want the names of the others that are involved in this mess. You said 'them.' I've got Monroe's name. Now I want the other names."

"Reno..."

"You're like a goddamn crab, Sanders. You climb your way up to the lip of the pot only for the other crabs to pull you back down into the bushel. You won't give me names? Fuck you, then. I'll find out for myself."

"You're not going to call IA are you?"

Reno ground his teeth together. "You'll wish that Internal Affairs is the worst of your problems, Frank."

"I have a card of someone from IA if you want to..."

Nevada's eyes brightened again. "I don't care about your crooked friends. All they're going to do is cover your ass." Reno's pupil's glowed to the point where the white of his eyes began to incandesce.

Frank swallowed. He stared up into Reno's face, watching the electricity dancing in the young man's gaze. "Your eyes are, uh..."

"Yeah, Frank. Funny how electrocution works, huh? If I were some guy in a Hollywood movie, it would be kind of neat. But when it's real, it's downright scary as hell, isn't it?"

Sanders licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Hey, and you'll be approved for unemployment checks!"

Reno grit his teeth, seething.

Captain Sanders frowned. "Alright, alright there was the Chief and some young woman, but I don't know her name. ...It was over the phone! I never saw her face. I can't confirm if it's the woman from the nightclub. She sounded kind of young, maybe about your age."

Reno drew his hands into fists again. He leaned on his knuckles, hovering over the Captain's desk. "So the Chief knows this person?"

"I guess! I don't know, Nevada! I just know what I was told to do, and if I didn't, I would have been fired," Sanders replied.

"Boo flippin' hoo," Reno said, rolling his eyes - they began to dim.

"Now what, Nevada?"

Reno reached his hand back and withdrew his sidearm. Sanders' eyes widened with fear. Reno's expression lightened with amusement.

Nevada smirked and slammed the gun down on the desk, handle towards the Captain, holster and all. "I'm not going to shoot you, dipshit. I'm one of the goddamn good guys." He snatched the inspector's badge from his belt and flung into the Captain's lap. "It's pathetic," he groused.

Sanders reached for the gun, touching only the holster. "What is?"

"You're nothing but a sad, sad pawn," Reno replied. "Maybe you always were and I was just too narrow-minded to see it...but I see it now, Captain. You can't serve and protect if you're letting the other side run things by phone." He turned, reached for the door handle and paused.

His fingertips wrapped around the brass handle, which caused it to glow. He opened the door and released the handle. A paperclip flew from Frank's desk and magnetically connected with the brass. Another paperclip followed.

Nevada stormed out of the office, not paying any attention to the glowing handle. He slammed the door shut behind him. It caused two of the letters to flop off the frosted glass, skittering across the floor.

Reno cleared his throat. Everyone in the squad room looked away. He cracked his knuckles and headed straight towards the elevator. He reached for the button but paused and reflected on the other night in his apartment building. He turned for a door labeled 'stairs.'

With a stern expression, Reno came down the steps of Central's front entrance, he pulled his silk tie off from his neck. He fished out his leather wallet with the inlay for his badge, removed his ID and debit card and pocketed them.

The empty wallet and silk tie found their way into the garbage.

'I might not be a cop anymore, but that just makes me more dangerous to the man behind the curtain,' he thought to himself.

Reno pushed his left hand against the main entrance and stepped out onto the street corner.

Wilfred Greg raced down the hall, calling after the ex-inspector.

"Nevada!" Reno glanced back over his shoulder at the name. The wily-eyed man, tailing him since passing by the forensic lab, called out for Reno a second time. Wilfred lifted a folder in his hand, waving it. He made his way to the front entrance, panting, and said, "Wait up, Reno!"

"What?" One simple worded question.

Greg approached, moving in close. He flipped the folder open and pointed to a computer printout of the findings. A diagram depicted a set of illustrations.

Upon closer inspection, Reno saw depictions were labeled. One included a molecular blowup labeled 'blood sample,' zoomed in at several hundred times. The picture underneath also resembled blood but with circles made in pen.

Nevada studied the two diagrams, quick to notice differences between the two.

"What did you find out?" The anger faded from Reno's voice, replaced by curiosity and interest for results.

"I don't know what the hell was in that sample but it would take a lot of something to mutate the DNA of blood," Greg started. "I don't even know if 'mutate' is the right word. Genetic engineering, maybe. Or it could be a natural development if the change happened at a predetermined time like puberty or..."

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Don't get all excited."

"Right, sorry."

"Okay. Good. So, what's the difference between these two pictures," Reno rubbed the back of his neck and drew a calming breath to keep his own excitement under control.

"Okay the sample you gave me," Greg said, continuing from where he'd started. "The cells are like miniature superconductors for electricity on a molecular level," Greg replied. "Science has proven that on an atomic level," the scientist found himself interrupted.

"Please, Greg!" Reno interjected. "I didn't take the same classes you took in college. You're gonna have to speak on my level if you're going to talk about anything on an atomic level."

"Alright, to make things really simple, I want you to picture an atom. Now, small parts of the atom move around the nucleus in ovular tracks," Wilfred explained. He used a pencil from behind his ear to draw a scratch shape of a typical atom. He sketched several overlapping ovals in different directions and a little dark circle in the center. "Do you know anything about a magnetic moment or spin? Nevermind, of course not. Now..."

"I don't need a science lesson. Just tell me what you discovered - I don't need to know the science behind it, just the bottom line." Reno tilted his head, looking across the information on the page. He didn't see anything he understood. "What's different about the sample?"

"The particles act differently than normal on the smallest level. The owner of this blood sample, I would imagine, is a superconductor of electricity. I took the sample to Maddox in LA yesterday morning..."

Reno blinked, "What? This should have stayed between us, Greg!"

"Let me finished," said Wilfred with a stern, set brow.

"Yeah...alright. Sorry, go on."

The middle-aged man shifted the folder then looked back at Reno. Silence. Greg shrugged, "Anyway. Maddox has a sick computer. It's a Cray made with NVidia..."

"Wilfred! I don't care about the computer."

"Okay, yeah, so, it's awesome and way more powerful than what a network of personal computers can do."

"Right, you mean like a super computer. So... Alright, the blood sample belongs to someone who is a superconductor of electricity. What does that mean to the person?" Reno asked, folding his arms.

"I suppose it's a blessing...or a curse," Greg mused. "Maybe both at the same time."

"Explain?"

"When a person finds themself in situations of great emotional extremes, their body will produce its greatest amount of energy. This is due to the fact that a person's emotions can both mildly and severely cause fluctuations in the body's temperature."

Reno nodded, rolling his right hand about, signaling Wilfred to go on.

"Oh...right, anyway, back to the atomic thing. The blood was so different at a cellular level that we decided to look at it on a far smaller level. And then we decided to look at this blood on a subatomic level to understand just how much this blood had mutated."

"Let's just use the word 'changed.' We're not talking about a comicbook mutant."

"Each molecule of hemoglobin contains four iron atoms and each of those can bind with molecules of oxygen. The iron atoms have electrons the way our sun has planets. On a basic level, that's how an atom works." Wilfred pointed to the diagram. "These electrons seem to be one of the things that aren't obeying the rules. Follow me so far?"

"I guess. They orbit the nucleus or whatever, right?"

"Yes they do. Let me try and explain it in a way that is more on your level."

"Yes, please. Keep it simple. I don't have time for a science lesson."

"Let's say an electron orbits the nucleus the way a planet orbits a sun. If the planet moves around the sun, that's a year. If it moves a quarter of the way around, that's a season. There are four seasons in a year."

"Okay, so far so good, Wilf. Keep going."

"Alright, Reno. Now, listen close. This is the tricky party. Normal particles appear to be moving from point A to B, to C, to D. The four seasons. Well these electrons would be moving so fast that in the time it takes a normal electron to travel from Spring to Summer like normal, the electrons from the blood sample would have just traveled several years around the orbital track."

"Wait, what? How does that even make sense?"

"What I mean to say is that the particles are moving far beyond point A to point B in a matter of speaking. Each time we measured the sub-atomic particle, these electrons were fifty times as traveled as a regular particle. So imagine the Earth going around the sun. One quarter of the way is a season. One full time is a year. Well, these things are acting like they go around the sun five times in the course of a single day. Again, this is just an ultra dumbed-down basic way of explaining this to you. No offense, of course. The result is energy build up that is being stored in the cells."

Reno lifted his hand, stopping Greg once more. "Wait, hold up."

Greg, on the other hand, appeared frustrated with Reno and equally excited that the ex-Inspector took such meticulous interest in the subject. "You know, beyond Maddox, there's really no one else with whom to talk about this stuff..."

"Let me see if I get this right, Wilfred. Are you telling me that on a natural organic level, the blood's particles are teleporting to their destination, within the cells...simply arriving at their cellular destination? Just, boom, extremely well traveled? Is it like that? You're telling me anytime the body's temperature changes from, say, an emotional outburst, the electron orbits the nucleus a hundred more times than it should? I know that's not the exact way to explain it, but...in reference to your solar system example...is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Greg grinned broadly, exclaiming, "Yes!"

"How the hell is that possible?" Reno said.

"We're working on an explanation. I needed Maddox for his microscope to see it and the computer to try and figure out the math behind it all. Anyhow, we ran some models and projections. The owner of this blood would be a superconductor, theoretically able to retain electricity from an outside source and even able to generate his or her own electricity."

"Seriously?"

"They'd store the raw electricity right in their blood. They'd be able to store and discharge it as necessary. I know that sounds very 'science fiction,' but this blood sample is amazing. God only knows the applications if this blood was manufactured or artificially modified. We're calling the slide the 'Zeus Sample.' Has a ring to it, huh?"

"What kind of applications, Wilf?"

"I'm going to assume if the owner of this blood concentrated or had a controlled emotional outburst, they could zap around like a lightning bolt, or rather, they could teleport just like the theoretical planets we talked about"

"Wait, what? Teleportation?"

Greg shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. I mean, you know, probably not that far...a few yards. How amazing would that be?" Greg exclaimed.

Reno thought back to the other night. "Anything else?"

Wilfred shrugged and rubbed his chin in thought. "At the extreme end of the spectrum, and completely in the realm of science-fiction?"

"That blood sample wasn't sci-fi enough for you? So what else?"

"Fair enough... So, the user might be able to discharge raw electricity at will, and with a little control, they'd be able to cause someone's hair to stand on end like static, or possibly shock someone like a fence. On a more extreme end of the spectrum, they might be able to do things that are comic book worthy. Could you imagine if someone like Zeus or Thor was a real person? This would be their blood. I'm not finished with this."

Reno closed his eyes and licked his lips. "Yeah?"

"I need to study it better."

"Right. Uh, so, let's talk about health benefits. What's the good and bad news - best guess?"

"Well the good news is there's an apparent dumping system."

"Pardon?"

"The iron and oxygen bond differently. I'd like to study it in action but it seems like the bonding process is different. I'm going to assume that the blood repairs more quickly. Let's say the owner cuts their finger. This rapid affair that we just talked about with the atoms working in overdrive...it would allow the user to quickly and naturally heal damage to capillaries, veins, surface injuries - possibly to the flesh to a degree. But, unlike Hemochromatosis patients, the iron doesn't appear to build up the same way in our computer models. The hemoglobin counts were normal."

"Hemo...what? Nevermind. Anyway, would there be any foreseeable side effects?"

"Think of Hemochromatosis as the opposite of being anemic."

"I don't know what any of that stuff means, man. Just...would there be any foreseeable side effects, Wilfred?"

"I need to study it more, Reno. But, if I had to use my imagination, I would assume that the owner of the blood sample would have to piss more often. With this extra build up, the metabolism would be higher. And the body would be working overtime to flush things that are unnecessary. Also, the owner of the blood would likely burn off any iron and oxygen buildup if they managed to discharge electricity. So long as they did that fairly often, it wouldn't be problematic to their health. But if they didn't expel electricity every now and then, they would be at risk for heart attacks or strokes. Everything in the body is sped up. Probably the metabolic rate, too. If they didn't flush it, it would back up and have adverse effects on the body."

Reno rubbed his face, frustrated by his inability to understand it on the same level. "Okay, so discharging electricity burns off the excess _whatever_and keeps the sample's owner safe."

"In theory, of course, but yes."

Nevada took a deep breath to calm his nerves then said, "Greg...do me a favor, would you? Keep this quiet. I'll come back by and get my sample tomorrow morning. Frank just fired me. Listen, to me, though - this is important: I don't want you talking about this, all right? We need to be clear on this. No posting studies on the internet; nothing. This is between us, alright?"

Greg blinked, "Jesus where'd you find this stuff?"

"I got my ass kicked fighting Krys Monroe's goons in a rain storm while I was on suspension. I was electrocuted and...let's just say it didn't go well. The blood belongs to me. I'd appreciate it if you didn't show that to anyone," Reno explained.

"What, like in Ernest Goes to Jailor something?"

"Wilfred, keep it a secret." As if to punctuate his statement, Reno's eyes glowed with a spark of finality.

Wilfred blinked, jaw agape and eyes wide. "Whoa. I saw that. Holy smokes. All right. You've got my word. Had I known, I wouldn't have gone to Maddox, I'm sorry, Reno. But with all due respect, we wouldn't know anything about it if I didn't."

"It's all right, Greg. You didn't know. Let me know what else you find out. I'll be back by sometime. Since this friend already knows, keep using his computer. If you need another sample to study, well...we can consider it but I need for you to keep all of this on the down-low. Promise me."

"I promise." Wilfred tilted his head. "I'm sorry you lost your job. If things get bad you can always use my basement. I rebuilt the basement in my house as an apartment. My mother lived there for a few years until she passed away. It's empty, now."

"I..." Reno frowned thoughtfully. "Thanks for the offer. Right now, I just wanna go home and figure out my mess." Nevada stuffed his hands into his pockets. "My car stalls when I drive it so I've gotta walk. I'll catch up with you later." He turned away and headed up the street.

X

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X

December 1, 2023, 10:00am San Leandro, California

** Eric Loupe slid off the guest bed** and reached for a shirt on the nightstand. He paused in front of a mirror on the dresser. Athletic, upper twenties...yet he didn't recognize his face. He stared at the reflection of the stranger contemplating how everything went crazy.

He thought about Karla and Donovan Loupe rescuing him from South Africa. He thought about Donovan, his only living family member, captured by Aris Falcon. Eric's thoughts turned to the geneticist, Falcon, rumored to be killing supernatural people and stealing their abilities.

Eric butted heads with Karla Howard, a succubus with a teenaged appearance, and left to clear his head. Eric's distrust of Government agents made it difficult to work alongside Samantha Summers. The young lady once worked for the Federal Government and their chance meeting turned harrowing at gunpoint.

Last week, Eric and Samantha retreated to the only place Eric knew in the area... Karla the succubus' old condo south of Oakland. Eric looked away from the reflection and rubbed his face.

He made his way out to the living room and peered in through the open door of Karla's old bedroom. He stared at the empty bed then stepped into the doorway. He cut his gaze to the right, peering into the master bathroom.

"I'm not in there." A woman's voice came from behind him. "I stay up late and I start my day early." Samantha Summers, the Government Agent he met the other night under sniper fire, stood behind him dressed in jogging attire.

"Don't sneak up on me. You know I hate government types."

"Eric, I didn't sneak up on you. You were staring in the bedroom with big old sparkling eyes. Or maybe it was a look of longing. It's hard to read your facial expressions. Besides, I was fired. I'm not with the US Government anymore and I'm certainly not your enemy. We're supposed to be finding answers together. Remember? Geeze."

"With all due respect, Agent Summers, you don't just 'stop working' for a clandestine government department that tracks supernatural people. I was mind raped by those bastards. Do you understand that?"

"So get therapy."

He glared at her. "I don't have a therapist I can go to for being forced to shoot eleven people in their heads. I don't have a therapist I can talk to about my conflicted feelings about the gun jamming when I mindlessly put it beneath my chin."

"Karma. They were investors for Aris Falcon. Their money fueled his whack-job experiments."

Loupe grimaced. "Karma is crap."

"It works for me."

"How can I claim they died by karma? How can I say I was saved by karma? I killed eleven people, so I deserved that last bullet."

"I suppose you're right, Eric. So what do you think a shrink would say about your situation in South Africa?"

"First of all, they'd focus on my 'grand delusion' that the government tried to make me an assassin capable of using supernatural abilities. They'd focus on the memory loss. The PTSD would take a back-fucking-seat. Then they'd decide I was crazy for saying I'm supernatural and have me committed. I can't go using my abilities for them because it would get reported and someone like your old outfit would come gunning for me for breaking the government secret code or some shit like that."

"Okay, okay, calm down. Look at it from my perspective. You've killed people. I don't know if you're capable of doing it again, or if you're going to wake up from a dream and have a psychotic episode. I'm a woman and I'm sleeping in the next room. I don't know if you're going to kick my door in and strangle me with my own shadow. Can you understand my_concern? I don't trust you, either. I'm afraid of you. But we're supposed to be working together. So I'm _trying. I need you to try with me. To meet me half way."

"Fair enough, agent. I appreciate your patience with me."

Summers shrugged, zhooshing her hair, then said, "I'm not an agent anymore. Just call me Samantha."

"Look, you weren't fired. They disassembled the agency and redacted any ties to your job. But once it becomes necessary again, your department will come right back together like nothing was ever wrong in the first place. You should have pride in who you were, who you are, and who you want to be. If you earned your status as a field agent, then you're an agent. And until I can somehow prove one way or the other that your people weren't involved in what the CIA did to me...I cannot afford to trust you either."

She smirked. "Fine. You don't trust me. But I'm going to go out on a limb and trust you as best as I'm able. So. I was out jogging this morning..."

His eyes lifted then lowered, looking over her sweats. "Really, do tell."

"Hey, smart ass, here's a hint on how to have a productive relationship with a woman. When we're talking, shut up and listen." She folded her arms and waited for a moment to see if he had anything else to say.

Eric mirrored her stance and folded his own arms in return.

Satisfied she had the floor, she said, "I went out on a limb today. I spoke to the detective who was working on the case of the sniper shooting from the night I met you. Guess what? He freaked out when I told him I was a witness. He called his superior in, and that guy looked pale. So he asked me if I work for the Government. Then I pulled out my old badge and showed him. The Captain looked uncomfortable. He looked to the left and said he'd never heard of my branch before. Instead of asking for a contact number, or arresting me for impersonating a Federal Agent, he asked for my cell number. He said he wanted to meet with me later after talking to his superiors first. I gave him the number for a burn-phone, so don't worry. I'm a rookie, but I'm not that green."

"Why would the guy let you go after telling him you're a Federal Agent? That sounds fishy as hell."

"Yup. I can tell you from the way he acted...he knows about USPRI," she said, pronouncing the acronym, 'Osprey,' like the bird. "The sight of my old credentials made him uncomfortable. Then again, I shouldn't even have them. I was supposed to surrender my creds when they dissolved the agency."

"Don't they do investigations on people who don't return their badge or whatever?"

"I lost my creds once. And they certainly investigated that. I got in a lot of trouble. Eventually I was awarded a new badge. After moving out of my apartment, because I'd been fired and had no income anymore, I found my original ID and badge while packing my stuff into storage. A week later, I was approached for my credentials. I gave them the old set. I kept the newer ones."

"Well, good for you."

"Can we focus on the fact he wants to try and meet me?"

"Please tell me you didn't give him this address."

Samantha scoffed. "You kidding? I'd never give them an address to a condo owned by some woman with actual abilities. That would wind up in a database and then my old superiors would think I'm working with you people."

Eric eyed her, brows scrunched. "You are working with..." He trailed off and lifted his hands. "Forget it. You're racist against freaks like me. That's fine. I'll go join a circus, where I belong. Lock the door on the way out." He turned away from her.

"Wait, wait! Eric, wait. I'm sorry. Jesus, I didn't know you were so sensitive."

"You're not very good at apologies are you? Look, Samantha, it's a good bet that some of the cops are the people in black outfits. If you were going to attack a large group of people spread out around the world, you would hire mercenaries, cops, and National Guard types. And to help keep a lid on it, you would assign detectives familiar with the group and its activities in order to bury cases and evidence created by your 'secret outfit.' Training on how to kill supernatural people would come from someone in the Government familiar with the study of how 'my people' fight."

"I'm not sure if I'm a big believer in conspiracies."

"Wake the fuck up! I'm not trying to make you believe in aliens, goddammit. I'm telling you that you almost stumbled onto the enemy's operation. Hell, for all they know you just figured out their front when you showed the Capo your badge. Impersonating a Government agent or state actor, like a cop, is against the law. Impersonating a federal agent is even worse."

"Yeah..."

"And the shocker, here, is that the captain of a police department didn't arrest you on the spot for showing that badge..." Eric rubbed his face and sighed. "It means he knows about your old agency. And he must think you're still an active agent. Right now, he's probably calling in everybody he knows for information. His superiors, his fence, his right hand man. You've probably got them completely spooked."

"This isn't a conspiracy, Eric!"

"Get it through your head! The water is deeper than you stand, Samantha!"

"This isn't the mafia and they're not living under some sort of omerta! Jesus!"

"Yeah, well, I'm telling you the police department is, at the very least, a front for some of the people in the black gear. I don't know if these people are paying the cops a graft or if some of the cops are part of this shit. But I intend to get to the bottom of it because I'm tired of being shot at."

She eyed him for a moment then sighed. "Look, I told the Captain, some guy named Frank Sanders, that I would meet with his officer in charge of the investigation. I'm walking into a trap if you're right. But if things get hinky I'll need support. And if this inspector guy does show up alone then we can pump him for information. He seems a bit green. The cop, not the captain."

"When?"

"This evening. Are you in?"

"It's best that I don't tell them I'm a supernatural. What did USPRI stand for again?"

"United States Paranormal Research and Investigations. Are you thinking about pretending you're my partner? Wouldn't it make more sense to have you hiding somewhere? You could use your powers if they try and attack me."

"I'm still learning. And something tells me that we'll be better off if we play this smart. If they know about your old agency somehow, then they're going to think it's still active and watching their every move. After all, if they're involved in genocide against the supernatural people, then they have every reason to be investigated."

"True, but you're making a lot of assumptions, Eric."

"Well. Be that as it may, you should hit the shower and I'm going to go and get something to eat. You okay with pizza for lunch? Also, I've called another supernatural and asked them to come here. Are you okay with that?"

"Why?"

"Because, Samantha, I did. Okay?"

"Look, if we're going to work together, we need to learn how to communicate. Just tell me why so I feel comfortable that you guys aren't going to gang up on me or something."

"Christ. You're not as confident as Karla, that's for sure." He saw her eyes grow cold and held his hands up in defense. "Wait, that came out wrong. I know women hate being compared. People in general hate being compared. But, no. We're not ganging up on you. He doesn't have a power. He's just...old. His name is Methos and I want to talk to him about our options, here. That's it and that's all."

"First of all, I'm not your girlfriend. So I don't care what you say. You're not hurting my feelings. I know myself and I don't care if you judge me. Secondly, if you know Methos then you know he doesn't go by that name anymore."

"Lance Patterson or something like that. He seems like the guy to talk to."

She folded her arms with a smirk. "I work for him. He's the reason I rescued your dumb ass. He's the reason I still work and have money. He's basically my boss and gives me gadgets and..."

"Okay, I get it. Fine. Let's meet with your boss. Christ. Talk about conspiracies."

"Now what?!"

Eric shook his head. "You're still operating USPRI to a degree. He's paying you to do your old job, only now it's being run by an immortal - him. He gives you information, and you work to keep him _in the know_regarding everyone else. He sent you to rescue me, huh? So the 'spookhouse agency' is being run by the spooks. Ghostbusters is being run by the ghosts. It's more than just ironic, Samantha."

"Fine. How about we just meet with him now and get this over with. You're in a crappy mood today."

"Yeah. I guess I am. I just want to get to the bottom of all this mess."

"Well then we'll get pizza on the way back. Let's go meet him now. Let's go." She reached for her keys. "I'll shower and change when we get back. The sooner we talk to him, the sooner you'll get out of your grumpy mood."

"I doubt it. I'm worried about Karla."

Summers lifted her hand, quieting Eric. She approached a window and gazed outside, first up then down. She went back to the door opened it and gazed out into the hall leading to the stairwell.

"What?" he murmured.

"Nothing, I just thought I heard the chirp of a radio." She withdrew her cellphone and paired it wirelessly to her high-tech contact lenses. She lifted the cellphone, opened a camera app and began to pan it left to right.

"What're you doing?"

"Using the camera in the phone and pairing the visual in real-time to my contacts." She motioned to her eyes with her free hand. "One of Lance's gifts. I'm scanning for focused radio transmissions and EMF in the area. It seems we're surrounded by focused data and voice radio communication. Much, much more than normal. I'm pretty sure there are several squads in the immediate area. I can see their radios, their cellphones...all the spectrums are congested."

Eric frowned. "You were followed."

She smirked and thumbed her cellphone screen then panned the phone camera towards the doorway to the stairwell. She walked back to the window and looked down then pointed the phone camera towards the outside. Samantha crossed the living room and looked down into the alley on the other side of the condo. "They're smart. They're probably up on the roof or something. We cannot lead them to Lance."

"Well, at least you're not making puerile jokes right now like Karla. You're remaining professional, I'll give you that." He walked to the window opposite of the alley and gazed out towards the bay in the distance.

"Eric, if your friend is out there in her boat on the water, you should call her to come and help us."

"No. Absolutely not. I need answers, and to get that, I need to stay focused. And to stay focused, I need to surround myself with people who are all business. I hate to say it but we may need to fight. Can you fight?"

"If you asked me a year ago, I would have said yes. If you asked me a few months ago, I would have said no because I locked up when I was face to face with someone who had a nasty agenda. Your blond friend, if we're talking about the same person, is the one who helped me out of that mess. But then Lance gave me new direction, new tech, and then he gave me various missions. And I got my confidence back. I even learned that my contacts can help me in a combat situation."

Eric eyed her for a moment then shook his head. "Fine. We need to get the hell out of here. Too bad those things couldn't help keep you from being followed."

"That's right, get another dig in. Every chance you get, take a dig at me. Makes you feel better about how much everything sucks for you, right?"

"Samantha..." He sighed and shook his head. "Let's just get out of here. What's our best way out?"

She thumbed her phone then said, "Lance is watching everything we're doing, now. I called him a few minutes ago. He's been listening, too. At least now we're not alone."

"How is he going to help?"

"Eric...I'm a team player. I play for his team. Deal with it." She looked around the main area of the condo. She went for her gear bag and shouldered it then set the phone into a section of the strap. It held the phone securely against her torso.

She secured the phone into place in the strap then checked to make sure it would stay in place. The phone's special camera option fed information to her contact lenses. Various bits of information appeared in her eyes. Numerous points of interest became highlighted followed by an information panel for each interest.

The front door became highlighted with an information box showing the door's stress factor durability rating. It depicted the type of metal used for the hinges. Another highlight box appeared in her eyes for the deadbolt and its efficiency rating, the doorframe and how much force it could withstand...

She turned back to Eric. An information box came up on the side depicting his approximate height and weight, his eye and hair color, and other minute details. "We'll get out of this," she said in a reassuring tone.

"Just try not to be sloppy again, okay?"

"Fair enough. Now what? Do we wait for them to try and make the first move or do we get the hell out of here?"

"We move. That's better than getting boxed in here."

"Fine. Let's get moving then. No use wasting time." She turned to the front door then froze seeing something in her contacts that Eric couldn't see. She waved for him to fall back away from the door. "They're here and they're about to..."

The door blew inwards from the force of a police-issue door ram. Men with SWAT gear poured in from the hallway with assault rifles.

A middle-aged man in a button up shirt and dress slacks cleared his throat. "Neither of you are going anywhere. These men have you at gunpoint."

"Who the hell are you?" Eric sneered.

Samantha folded her arms. "Eric, this is the Captain that I spoke to. Frank Sanders." She eyed the captain then said, "I've never, in my entire life, heard of a department Captain coming in the front door during a raid." She paused, reading a box of information in her eyes, displayed over the contact lenses she wore. "But you must feel pretty confident since you were a SWAT cop twelve years ago."

"You've done your homework," said Sanders. "I did mine, too. You're currently suspended. Yet you were all too happy to wave your badge around earlier. And you," Frank turned to Eric. "You're under arrest for multiple counts of murder."

Eric smirked. "You going to extradite me back to Africa?"

"No, mister Loupe. More than half of the people you executed in that bank were American. You're staying stateside. And we know how to handle you and I know what you are. Don't worry, though. I'm going to take you to an expert on your kind to determine how to deal with you."

"Is that right..."

"Yes, because you're technically out of my jurisdiction. If this so-called agent had done her job and arrested you then I wouldn't have had to get involved."

"So why are you here on the front line?" asked Samantha.

"To ensure that my boys don't shoot the two of you. Agent, you'll receive your due process. Mr. Loupe, you're wanted by several government agencies and the investigation is still pending. So you get to go somewhere special. Here's a hint...there are no windows."

Samantha stepped in front of Eric. "He's with me. I already arrested him. Due to special circumstances, he's leading me on a fact-finding mission because he was forced against his will to do what he did. So, as his arresting officer, suspended or not, he's with me and he's my responsibility. I demand to go wherever you're taking him."

Sanders eyed them both for a moment. "Fine. There's someone I would like both of you to meet. She will be able to determine, factually, whether or not either of you are the kind of people that have been terrorizing the city as of late."

"Go on, say it." Eric narrowed his gaze. "Supernatural freaks. I can see it in your eyes - you know what I am."

"I know a lot more than you think, young man. You people have been terrorizing this city. I know what you're capable of. And I know that you cannot stop a bullet. You make one move I don't like and you'll get a bullet in the head. And, believe me Mr. Loupe, my_gun will _not jam."

Eric eyed Sanders for a moment then pondered what Karla would have said in such a situation. "Fine. Take me to your leader, then."

"Get them in irons," Sanders said then walked out of the apartment. "I'm sending up two inspectors to search the house. Get these two in the van and pull back. I want this whole condo locked down."

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Next chapter: https://www.sofurry.com/view/618709